


Kill You Again

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:38:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking, sleeping, the half-delirious state between, everything screams <i>Snowman</i> to him and runs him through like her cigarette holder stabbing sharply and excrutiatingly into his flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill You Again

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kink Meme VI, a request for Slick/Snowman based on the They Might Be Giants song "Ondine". Ohhhh man I love these two.

God he can't stop.

It's worse than it's ever been.

Waking, sleeping, the half-delirious state between, everything screams _Snowman_ to him and runs him through like her cigarette holder stabbing sharply and excrutiatingly into his flesh. When he sleeps, he dreams of her, short flashing images of torturous heat and desire. Their lips nearly touch, but they never do. Her body writhes a hairsbreadth away from him but he can't put his hand on her.

He rips himself forcibly out of sleep into 3 am empty nothingness, just him and the memory of her and his throbbing body in the July heat. It's no better; images spring up as uncontrolled as they do in his dreams, as painfully hungry and grasping and without cease. He throws himself into the shower to wash off the sweat, sweeps tangled damp sheets from the bed, and lies open and reeling in the darkness.

He needs to get away from her. He needs to get rid of her. He needs to leave town. He could never have considered it but weeks of restless sleep and days spent dreaming make his claim, his town, seem less worth the struggle. His head impacts against the pillow and his ruined eye aches. His arm aches. His entire body pulses to her heartbeat and the rhythm of breathing he hasn't heard in a year.

He smells her first, the cloying clove-smoke sifting through his brain and shocking reflexes into immediate desire. He hates it, the fact that his immediate response is still, after all she's done to him, want. He wants to tear himself apart; he wants to tear her apart.

The smoke sifts into his room and into his mind, and he turns his head, blind on one side, to see her, silhoutted in his doorway as he lies barely clothed in the bedroom he's slowly destroyed through months of foiled addiction. Wallpaper peels from the walls, clinging; her curves clinging to the doorframe like she'll peel away and vanish too.

 _No,_ he breathes. _It can't be you._ But it is. She tosses her hat to one side, sidles from her coat as a snake sheds skin. His fingers dig into the bed, rather than reach for the gun beside the lamp- why? Why does he wait for her, allow her to take and take and do to him whatever she wants?

He's never known. She drags his will from him like the truth pulled in slow torturous interrogation, and he breaks every time and lets her do with his will what she wants. Her body stretches over his, suspended, and he reaches for her like in every dream of every night, and expects her to be spirited away as he wrenches himself back awake again.

But reaching fingers touch skin unexpectedly, running shaking over her cheeks, her lips, pausing to feel her breath against his fingertips, feeling the breath his body pulses to when she's gone. Down her neck, long, over her bare shoulder to the arm supporting her above him.

 _Where have you been,_ he croaks, voice rusty from long disuse.

 _Away,_ she replies.

 _You left me nothing,_ he wants to say. _You traitorous bitch, you took the best of me and left me to die._ And, _why._ And, _I love you, don't leave me._

But he doesn't. Instead he rips down the back of her gown, severing buttons and ruining delicate fabric. He doesn't care. Maybe some button will roll under the bed, maybe some wisp of silk will be caught and stay, and he'll have something, _something_ left when she goes. Not if.

 _I've been dreaming of you,_ he ends up saying, whispering as she pulls close to him, long body all curves pressing him into the sheets. _I can't stop dreaming of you. Stop it, stop it, you're killing me, I can't stop dreaming-_

 _And I of you, Slick,_ she breathes. _I've killed you so many times. But I can't stop myself. One more time won't hurt._

It will. It will savage him and sever him all over again just like every time. Her dress is gone, her body is slick. Slick and sliding against his in the summer night with just the glow of her cigarette to light the world. He's together with her, one more time, one last time can't hurt.

But it does, hitting him and breaking bones as surely as an impact into solid concrete. If he stood on the roof of the tallest building in town and looked down past the pigeons to the sidewalk and threw himself off to splatter into nothing, he couldn't be more thoroughly destroyed. And it comes again and again as Snowman rocks on top of him, waves of ruin washing through his body and breaking his thoughts.

 _Finish me, finish me please fuck you don't leave me again,_ his strangled voice comes out like nothing at all in the room full of heat waves and cigarette smoke and disaster. Her breathing is taking him over as his heart beats to her time and she holds his will in her eyes, cool and watching still even as he gets washed away by the flood of heat and need.

 _No,_ she says quietly as she pulls herself away, leaving him drained and dying in his bed. _I've got to go, Slick._

 _Why, no, stop it, fuck you, come back,_ he breathes, struggling against the oppressive nothing holding him down.

 _Because I've killed you already, Slick,_ she says quietly, a heart-stopping breath by his ear, _and I can't bear to kill you again._

And then she's gone, leaving him alone and broken in his bed unable to move for the waves of heat wracking his body. The smoke filters away, and then he is up, scrambling suddenly as the last shreds of twisting ecstasy finally vanish, searching the room for one last trace of her, the stray button or scrap of cloth.

But there's nothing, and he's nothing. And it's worse than it's ever been.


End file.
